


The Sabbath

by burnoutbabe



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, uncharted - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-10-03 02:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnoutbabe/pseuds/burnoutbabe
Summary: 1988 - On your 18th birthday, months after a failed Halloween party leads you to meet one of your only real friends, Samuel Morgan, you're forced to make a decision based upon the death of Evelyn Dandridge - World renowned treasure hunter and recluse.1989 - A year after leaving with Sam and Nathan (now Drake instead of Morgan) you find yourself in Mexico halfheartedly looking for Lechuza Almundina's burial site. A woman originally rumoured to be the Virgin Mary incarnate, however, trialled for witchcraft in 1489 by her own church for smuggling witches into a hidden city in Mexico, she fled to this city filled with gold and riches untold.





	1. Prologue

The frosty air bites at your skin as you approach the glowing house. Decorations adorn the windows and walls of the building, emaciated skeletons hang dauntingly from the porch ceiling and pumpkins line the ground, nestled between the crisp Autumn leaves. Booming music thumps through the house onto the street as you tug on the soft cape that resides on your shoulders. Approaching the mahogany door, you glance up at the number. "13" sits in gold plastic staring at you as you debate the etiquette of entering a party. Hesitantly you grasp the handle of the door and tug it down, pulling it open to reveal bodies upon bodies dressed in various costumes, lights hang from the ceiling and the noise seemed to have increased ten times more. The faces melt together and the room is sickeningly hot for an October party, but you push through the sweating bodies to find your friends. They had told you to meet them there, that you couldn’t miss the “hottest party of the year.” The idea itself seemed good at the time but now you weren’t so sure. 

Doubling round the immaculate house you find yourself in the back garden that is scarcely populated, sliding to the floor by the back door you pull the corded house phone down from its wall-mount, calling Heather (the unofficial leader of your friendship group) you remove the pointed, plastic fangs from your mouth and focus on the dial tone.  

 _“Hello?”_ a distant voice answers, your gaze falls on a boy across the yard, he’s laughing at something this blonde angel has said. You make note of how her halo is crooked. 

 _“Heather? Where are you guys?”_ the noise on the other end makes you wince and jerk the phone away from your ear, you look back at the boy only to catch his stare for a second before averting your eyes. 

 _“Oh Y/N, we’re at the party! You’re not here yet,_ _mhm_ _? It's totally_ _ace_ _here, I hardly noticed you hadn't arrived.”_ She was drunk, so painfully drunk but you could still hear a hint of sarcasm lingering on her words. You let out a puff of air and watch as it rises, glancing back to the boy you try to focus on his outfit: Indiana Jones, an admirable choice.  

 _“Uh, yeah? I am here but I can’t find you guys, did you only just arrive or something?”_   You’re now more than confused and begin to fidget as a deflated looking Hulk Hogan pukes in the far end of the garden. The other end becomes muffled and you just barely make out Heather’s abrupt laughter before she shouts: 

 _“Y/N fell for it! They went to that freak-show party for losers!”_  

A chorus of laughter breaks out on the other side of the phone and you shut your eyes as your chest clenches. You end the call before the laughter can die down and re-open your eyes to find the boy and blonde have both disappeared.  _“Good luck…”_ you mumble to yourself as you rest your head in your hands. Feeling your eye make-up smear you grimace, this night is becoming a cliché, now all you need is a handsome stranger to come in and sweep you off your feet. 

 _“Did you come to this party as a skeleton? Because you look like you have no-body.”_ A voice speaks from above you. Removing your hands from your eyes you lift your head and lock eyes with the boy from before, blinking at him you look away and stare at the patchy grass. 

 _“Sorry, poor joke,”_ He scratches the back of his head as he sees your reaction. 

 _“Not your fault it was a bad joke,”_   your voice sounds deflated and you refuse to look back up at him, this all feels peculiar to you. 

 _“Can I sit down?”_ He gestures towards the open space of grass and you shrug, picking blades from the ground and tearing them apart. 

 _“Rough night?”_ He continues. 

 _“Being ditched by people who were only pretending to be your friends is pretty harsh, man."_  

  _I’m_ _sorr_ _-”_    

 _“What happened to your little slice of angel food cake?”_ You, of course, are sarcastically referring to the blonde he was with earlier. 

 _“I asked a friend to walk her home, I’d have done it myself but I’m pretty sure a despairing vampire isn’t the best thing to have at a party full of blood pumped teens.”_  

 _“Shut up”_ your words are rude but the smile that stretches on your face gives away your facade. 

 _“You_ _wanna_ _blow this place? I- I mean I can give you a lift home if you want.”_ The stutter in his voice takes you off guard but you stand up, stretching your legs and extend your hand out for him to take. 

 _“I don’t think I_ _wanna_ _go home just yet, if that’s okay?”_   He nods, hair swinging loose from his hat and brushing against his forehead. 

The crowd has died down and people are sprawled everywhere, costume pieces and props lay strewn across the floor as you push past the odd person. He is leading and you question whether it is such a good idea to be following him anywhere. A bottle of Pernod rests on a glass table decorated in spiders and wool made to look like cobwebs, letting go of the boy’s sleeve you squirm through the thinning herd of sweaty teens and grab it before dashing back to him, hearing someone yell you bolt to the door.  

 _“INDIE, C'MON!”_ You shout as his bemused expression turns into one of excitement.  

The person seems to give up on the chase as you two around the corner to a bike parked neatly on the side of the road. Catching your breath, you look down at the swirling liquid and take a swig, offering it to your companion he shakes his head. Make-up drips from your face and your fangs are missing in action but not being alone makes up for all of that.  

 _“I never told you my name, it’s-”_   again you cut him off.  

 _“I’_ _ll_ _just call you Indie, no formalities please.”_  

He raises his arms in a form of surrender before pointing at your outfit and mouthing “Dracula or Count Von Count?"  

You scoff before replying _"Count_ _Count_ _, obviously, I’m a person of prestigious tastes.”_   A small chuckle leaves his lips as he mounts the bike and waits for you to follow his lead.  

 _“You like the beach?”_   He revs the bike, forcing you to wrap your arms around his waist.  

 _“Yeah, why?”_ You press your cheek into his back. 

 _“Just curious”_   is all he says before kicking the stand in and driving off.  

Soft sand brushes against your bare feet as you hold your shoes in one hand. The sea creeps up at the pair of you as the waves crash against the shore, the ice choked water leaving your feet numb.  

 _“_ _So,_ _is this the part where you drink my blood and leave me for dead or?”_ Indie trails off in jest.  

 _“No, I was thinking of saving that for a little later on if I’m being completely honest with you, not quite hungry enough yet.”_  

You smile at him making sure to hold his gaze for a few seconds before you drop your eyes to the ground again and slow your pace. The moon drapes across the water and illuminates you both in pale light as you begin to fumble with your words. 

 _“Why did you leave with me?”_  

 _“You looked alone, nobody deserves to be alone even if it’s only at a shitty Halloween party.”_ Indie stopped abruptly after his words and turns to face the ragged waters that had started pouring over your feet now. 

 _“My brother- he’s uhm-”_ He licks his lips and chuckles.  

 _“I know this probably breaks the formalities treaty we made but I just - he stays in this orphanage, I used to go there too till I got kicked out. They don’t_ _lemme_ _see him - especially not on any holidays, say I’m a bad influence. I saw you and I kept thinking about him, all alone because the orphanage_ _has_ _got him on a leash and I can’t even be there for him, can’t be a good brother because I don’t even get the chance to.”_   His voice sounds so small compared to the thundering crashes of the waves.  

 _“I’m sorry to hear that, Indie… You know Bram Stoker once wrote, ironically enough in Dracula, that loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.”_  

 _"Shut up, what does that even mean?”_   Indie exhales slowly as a string of hair flops into his eye, kneeling he brings his hand into the frothy water and splashes it against your ankles, flinching from the impact your solemn expression drops as you shriek lightly and kick some water back at him.  

An hour full of drinking and talking slips away right before your eyes and before you know it the kid behind the Indie costume becomes an actual person with goals, aspirations, and interests rather than just another blurry face at a raunchy costume party. You realize this kid isn’t that different from the character he’s hiding behind. Strolling back to his bike you’re caked in damp sand that makes your skin itch like it’s on fire and your hair is in clumps but you’re laughing quietly into the isolated night. Most of your make-up has been washed off into the ocean, a waxy soup of unintentional memories. You and the costumed boy stand a little closer to each other on the way back to his bike and you feel the glacial air nip at your soft cheeks as your hand brushes against his, sparking some warmth in you. The journey to your house feels like it ends in seconds, wincing as you get off the bike and see the dark house you turn back to the boy and smile.  

Your face twinkles as you begin to dig through your pocket, and you pull out your house key. Not wanting to give a soppy goodbye you turn and start to walk away. You’re halfway up the path before you turn back to the boy and clear your throat to catch his bewildered gaze one last time.  

 _“Thank you, Indie. I-”_  

 _“Sam.”_   He interrupts hopefully.  

You stare at him for a second too long, now you wear the bewildered expression.  

 _“Uh... Y/N.”_   It feels like your voice is just a whisper towards Sam, afraid Indie was a façade to trick you just like Heather had.  

He grins before mounting his bike  _“I’ll see you round, Y/N?”_  

You stand blinking before you shake your head and laugh _“Possibly, Sam, someone has to reprimand you for your cheesy historical puns.”_ You both laugh for a second before you turn back towards your house. 

 _“I should probably go, but I’ll catch you later?”_ Maybe the party Heather had sent you to was a little lame but Sam wasn’t and that was enough for you.


	2. 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set directly after chapter 16 (A Brothers Drake) the second half of this update covers the night you leave with Nathan and Sam

Despite your belief that you would never see Indie (or Sam as he had revealed to you before you parted ways) again, he turned up to your house the following weekend at noon with two soggy Styrofoam cups of coffee and a grin that forced you to invite him into your glacial home. At first glance he seems taken back by how empty your house feels - not physically barren, but more so in spirit. Despite this he gives you a prepossessing grin and saddles down onto a deflated bean-bag next to the weathered arm-chair you sit in.  

_“This place is cosy, huh?”_ He seems genuine but a scoff leaves your lips.  

_“It’s f_ _our walls isn’t it?”_  You retort.  

_“Ah, a house but not a home I’m guessing?”_  Sam’s response catches you off guard and you sit, stunned into silence, trying to dissect what he means.  _Home_. What a pathetic word you thought. Sensing the tension, he shuffles and feverishly looks around, till his eyes happen upon a shelf littered with statues - you watch his gaze linger on a photograph. 

_“That’s_ _María Guadalupe García Zavala, she-”_  

_“Mother Lupita, she was a nun, right?”_ Sam abruptly cuts you off.  

_“I didn’t take you for the religious type, Samuel.”_ His name feels foreign in your mouth, this is possibly the first time you’ve had a semi-meaningful conversation with someone in a long time.  

_“I’ll have you know I take my faith very seriously,”_  a smirk breaks out across his face " _Really though you’re religious?”_  

_“My parents were... I don’t know what I am anymore.”_  Thoughts of your parents begin to bring a melancholic veil over your mind, but Sam keeps talking unbeknownst to the deeper trauma you hold. 

_“Perplexing, or something along those lines, is what you are.”_ Sam laughs as he follows the string of ornaments. Misbahas and rosaries line the shelf’s contents as Sam picks up a robust looking vase with a hooked spout.  

_“If I’d known you owned such a funky little tea-pot I_ _woulda_ _just brought the cups.”_  He smirks holding it up near his face, you can’t help but to let out a breathy laugh as he’s cast in a tricoloured glow from the light reflecting onto the vase’s sugar glass.  

_“It’s a Buddhist ritual vase, a_ _bumpa,_ _if you like,”_  A smirk lines your face as you watch him inspect it calmly.  

_“Ritual? God you make it sound so dirty,”_ Sam nonchalantly teases before placing the vase down in front of you. 

_“So, theology family, huh? My parents were more so stuck in the past, to put it one way.”_ There’s something about the glint in his eyes as he says it that captivates you, light seeping in through the window and bathing him in an almost welcoming glow, casting him in a hue of warmth.  

* * *

Your eyes dart between Sam and Nathan, the glint now dulled in his own, as he holds his hand out to you. Beckoning.  

_“Y/N? Are you listening? I need you to not space out right now, please, okay?”_ He paces that same living room you sat and drank coffee in all those months ago, as Nathan sits shaking in the moulted bean bag.  

The night’s quiet is ripped apart by a blaze of sirens, your hands quivering, as you take the white leather book from Sam and begin to thumb through the aged papers, he is talking but your eyes begin to trace the pages, his words all begin melting together into one monotonous noise.  

_“We can’t stay here, Y/N.”_  He is sickeningly pale and a bead of sweat lines his brow as he gestures towards his younger brother with a jittery thumb. A mop of hair covers Nathan’s blackened eye, but you can see the tear stains tracking his cheeks as the denim jacket swallows his frail frame.  

Instinct kicks in and without replying to Sam you leave the living room, Cassandra’s journal in hand. Panicking, he follows you, half expecting to see you pull a clunky mobile (that neither of you can afford) out and dial 911 to turn them both in. However, there you stand shoving handfuls of crumpled clothes into a decrepit rucksack; the journal opened in front of you like some holy scripture come to light. Sam stands dumbfounded for a second, blinking at the surreal nature of this scene. 

_“Y/N... What are you doing?”_  You stop mid-shovel and lock eyes with him, caught for a second like a deer in headlights. Reality hits, it is your 18th birthday and you are packing a bag to leave for a _trip_ that was never discussed nor were you invited to. 

_“You can’t just leave me here,”_ Your words are frantic, almost pleading, unbeknownst to both of you, Nathan lingers in the doorway of the room. Sam takes a step towards you and you recoil, hastily grabbing the book.  

_“Please Sam, I don’t care what happened, don’t leave me here alone.”_ Sam looks around at the curtained room, candles flickering dimly, he looks lost. Silence swallows you both in the decrepit space and as Sam opens his mouth to speak Nathan pushes past him and begins to pack your bag. He hasn’t spoken since Sam came banging on your door 20 minutes ago, he still doesn’t speak, but rather looks towards Sam and simply nods his head. Sam doesn’t say anymore as you stand clutching the book to your chest, he looks at how vacant your home is and understands what him and Nathan leaving means to you, thinks back to his father leaving him and Nathan at St. Francis’ and so he begins helping Nathan pack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the delay, hopefully updates will be more frequent now that my exams have finished and I apologise this chapter is a little short but it's mainly a filler to the beginning of the actual story!!

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in my reasoning for the date I used this timeline to loosely base everything on: http://uncharted.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline - Technically, due to Nate being born in 1976 and then being given to the state in 1981 (Nate being 5, Sam being 10) it wasn't until 8 years later (1989) when they broke into Evelyn's. However according to the timeline Nate meets Sully in 1990 but this would make him 14 not 15 which I believe is canon (I have no source for this sorry). So for the sake of plot I set the break-in to 1988 so that we can pick up in 1989, a year after the events. 
> 
>  
> 
> Similarly, I couldn't find a last name for Evelyn so I used her voice actresses last name (however I'm sure if I replayed the chapter Brother's Drake I would find some indication of a last name. 
> 
>  
> 
> And finally, this prologue is from a Halloween one-shot I wrote awhile ago on my tumblr: brothersdrrake - However, I have edited it heavily


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